


If you close your eyes (does it almost feel like nothing's changed at all?)

by SecondStarOnTheLeft



Series: We Could Be Heroes [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lannisters always come out on top, always have.</p><p>Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jaime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerhall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerhall/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's got the least secure alter ego in the world, but it's one of the things he regrets least.
> 
> Not that that's saying much. He's not one for regrets, our Jaime.

_Kingslayer_.

Every day since he was seventeen, more or less, Jaime's been hearing that fucking moniker echoing up fire escapes and down alleyways and around corners. He wouldn't mind if it weren't ridiculous (Aerys hadn't been King for years by the time Jaime shot him, not really, Rhaegar had been King in all but name and everyone knew it, but nobody dared called Bobby Baratheon  _Kingslayer),_ but it was ridiculous, and even though he'd never let anyone know it, he fucking did mind it, thanks.

The only thing that confused him more than Cersei's kids was the fact that people  _hated_ him for killing Mad Aerys. Like, the guy was batshit and was literally willing to let his grandkids die before he'd hand over control of freaking  _anything,_ never mind the Business.

But Jaime had shot him in the back (while he was running away, trying to ignite the explosives he'd had built into the house, the crazy bastard), so everyone thought Jaime was a chickenshit and Aerys was a victim.

The whole thing was just so much  _bullshit_ that sometimes it drove him crazy, but mostly, Jaime laughed it off because that's what was expected.

 

* * *

 

He worked with Cersei. Always with Cersei.

Cersei liked this side of things more than she liked the other - Dad fucked her over, made her risk her bastard husband's temper by making her play femme fatale for whoever he needed to figuratively get in bed with, making her  _literally_ do the deed so he could  _sign_ the deeds.

So Jaime liked working with Cersei, because at least then he knew that Bob wouldn't go crazy, because hey, of course Cersei spent a lot of time with Jaime, they were  _twins._

Kingslayer and Lioness. Cersei had picked dark red for her costume, because it matched her lipstick and didn't show up the blood too much, and gold as well, because it matched her hair and she liked that people saw her coming.

Jaime had picked his to match, just like he'd always done.

 

* * *

 

Tyrion was the only one who knew about just how deep in shit he'd gotten with Cersei when they were kids - well, the only one living, ever since Mom had passed away.

They'd put that behind them once Jaime realised just how deep Cersei's obsession with becoming Queen went (and she'd gotten there, she'd used Dad's "friendship" with Aerys to get to Rhaegar, and sent Bob after him, and she'd sent Mountain Clegane after sad Elia), but he still. Like. She was  _Cersei._ She was his twin and his big sister and the only person who'd loved him after Mom died and before Tyrion'd been able to speak in real words.

And she'd bred two nutjobs just as bad as Aerys ever was, so bad that Jaime was actually relieved that Renly dumb Baratheon had taken poor Tommen under his wing and out of the Waterside.

Jaime loved Cersei, but her and hers were even more out of control than he was lately, and someone was going to take advantage of that.


	2. Cersei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei had always been the strongest of her family, and she'd never been more tired of that shit than when someone tried to kill one of her kids.

Cersei had always been the strongest of her family, and she'd never been more tired of that shit than when someone tried to kill one of her kids.

Problem was, she wasn't even surprised that Joff had been shot. If anything, she was surprised no one had tried to kill Myrcella first - Joff went for  _everyone,_ totally indiscriminate, but Myrcella went for dangerous targets, like the fucking Pack. 

So yeah, Cersei was amazed her girl hadn't been gunned down yet. It was only a matter of time, she knew, and that hurt like a bitch but it was the  _truth,_ and Cersei had given up on avoiding the truth once she'd realised that Robert really, really wasn't going to let go of Lya Stark.

Joff was a shitty patient. He'd taken one in the shoulder and one in the stomach - it hadn't even hit anything vital, for crying out loud - but he was carrying on as if he'd been shot in the head.

Cersei remembered seeing a child with a bullet in his head once long ago, and shuddered to remember the rumours the sawbones had whispered, that that same child was alive and well and hanging out around the Southside and the Breaker.

She wondered if this was the doom she'd dreamed about since she was a kid. Jaime'd look at her weird if she said anything, think she was crazier than he already did, and she didn't think she could handle him looking at her like that anymore.

 

* * *

 

Thing was, Cersei had known war was coming. Nobody had wanted to admit it, but she'd known since the sawbones had told her the Tyrells were sniffing around Southside, looking for the Viper.

She'd had her dealings with the Viper - he hated her more than anyone, because she'd been the one to engineer the King and his family's deaths, and hadn't the Viper's sister been the King's daughter-in-law, oh yes she had, the  _bitch -_ and she thought the Tyrells were insane to be going after him, but she couldn't exactly blame them. Hell, if someone had pushed one of her boys off a roof and left him crippled, she would've torn their face off with her bare hands.

It was all part of the job, of course - the paralysed Tyrell had gotten tangled up with the Pack, and he'd paid the price. You didn't come into the masquerade expecting to walk out the other side whole. Cersei had been in the game for longer than anyone in the city except maybe Ned Stark and Oberyn Martell, knew the risks, and wished that she could talk some fucking sense into the kids.

Tommen had had  _too much_ sense, that was his problem. He'd seen the risks and gotten out before they could touch him. She figured him for a weird sort of brave for that, even if it was the absolute height of cowardice in reality. 

What a fucking mess. The Martells coming at them from the Southside, Stannis' girl stirring shit down the Breaker, talk of Targaryens having  _survived,_ the Dayne twins having appeared back from the dead with Jon fucking Connington in tow. The Tyrells causing trouble - fucking newbies, who'd never been involved in the fucking masquerade until the oldest one had decided to throw in his lot with the Pack, the stupid  _child!_ \- and the Pack pressing south with their stupid fucking ideals of peace, freedom and law-abiding goodness. 

Well, at least Old Ned'd be busy for a while with the new flood of wildfire the sawbones had given Cersei and Father access to. Father hadn't been thrilled, but even he couldn't object to the cash the drugs brought in, no matter how dangerous they were to handle and distribute. 

He wanted to go to the Tyrells, talk about an alliance, but Cersei thought he was fucking mad. They were dirty, or at least Fat Mace was, but they did everything they could to keep out of the masquerade.

It was them against the world, really. Her kids might've had Robert's name and that awful fucking black hair, but they were Lannisters at the back of it, and everyone who wasn't a Lannister was an enemy.

Unless they were Tyrion. He was a Lannister  _and_ an enemy, when he wasn't being useful over the comm.

 

* * *

 

She'd set up enough traps on the roof of the hospital to make even the Viper think twice about making a move on Joff, and Jaime had agreed to keep an eye on him so Cersei could try and talk Myrcella out of retaliating. 

Ned Stark was leaning against the driver's door of her car when she came out of the hospital.

"I think it's about time you and me and some old friends had a talk, Cersei," he said, and she remembered then that before the whole mess with Lya, before the Waterside Massacre, him and Robert had been as close as brothers. "I've sent word to the Martells, but after that it's just you and yours and me and mine. We're all that's left."

"So few are RSVPing to the masquerade nowadays," she said, shaking her head. "Ned, my son was  _shot_ and left for  _dead_ by a Martell. I'm not going to sit around a table with Doran and the Viper and making nice."

Ned looked so fucking tired that she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. 

There hadn't been room in Cersei's life for pity since Robert broke her jaw the first time.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Pompeii' by Bastille.


End file.
